


the one that you want

by poeticlump



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon Universe, Embarrassed Killua Zoldyck, Future, Jealous Gon Freecs, M/M, Protective Killua Zoldyck, Reunions, Roommates Gon & Zushi, Trans Alluka Zoldyck, University Student Alluka Zoldyck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21742315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poeticlump/pseuds/poeticlump
Summary: “I-I just . . .”“You just what, Gon.” His soft white hair was disheveled, sneakers coated in fresh city grime, and he looked like he wanted to scream—in a way that only Gon could recognize. His stance was composed, cold, calculated; with Killua it was all in his eyes.But for one of the record first times in his life, Gon had no words. For the first time, he didn’t want to be honest. He didn’t want to be straightforward. He was sick of telling everyone in the world exactly what he felt and wanted. Some things, some things were sacred. Some things Killua wouldn’t understand.He wouldn’t understand that Gon wanted him to himself.[OR Gon reunites with his best friend only to experience a night of blinding, all-consuming jealousy.And Killua--left to his own devices now that Alluka is at Yorknew University--stumbles into a hunter mission much larger than he predicted.]
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 71
Kudos: 236





	1. i want so much more, sometimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bop: [Rot by DBMK](https://open.spotify.com/track/1UD133Z9RgPxQWL9gYJuVe?si=j4Gjj-ZnSIGTPj-bP7HyRg)

Gon sat in a sea of friends and strangers, specifically beside a reddened, boisterous Knuckle—and up until five minutes ago, beside Killua. He couldn’t hear his barstool creaking over the deafening crowd, but his legs shook with a maddening energy. The only thing keeping him from flinging himself across the room was the fact that he was supposed to have changed. He was supposed to have _grown_.

_But what is this feeling?_

The man ruffled his hair with clenched hands, a frustrated noise leaving his lips.

It just didn’t make sense. He knew anger, was all too familiar with loss, with separation, but this—this heat that clawed at his chest and drowned his ears with his heartbeat, this force that tensed his muscles and tendons to stone, that grit his teeth, that drained sound from the room. This was something new.

Just minutes ago, Killua had been beside Gon. He was leaning against the bar, elbows propped with a mischievous smile.

“C’mon, old man, every guy uses lines. Be a weirdo. It won’t be hard for you,” he gibed, nudging Knuckle.

“But, arm wrestling?” Knuckle was intrigued, yet not entirely convinced. He gripped at the edge of the bar, sparing a dreamy-eyed glance at the waitress twittering about, taking orders at the other end of the counter.

“Arm wrestling.” Killua was firm, resolute. “You really wanna date a chick who wouldn’t take you up on a challenge? A normal, basic chick that you won’t be able to adopt a million dogs with and support your strange fighter-nerd lifestyle?”

Knuckle couldn’t deny the validity of that statement, but still was too anxious to make the move, pressing his thumbs together and mumbling excuses to no one in particular. Killua gave him a scheme-y grin and a look that said “I got this”, and the next fifteen minutes flew right by.

Killua waved down the waitress. She was flustered by the challenge, but flushed from her toes to her ears when she saw Knuckle was the one interested. She grinned and nodded.

Their friend group and the other bartenders erupted in raucous support. Knuckle let her win. She offered her number as consolation. It was cute, eccentric, sweet. They were soon coupled up by the bar, talking with wide grins and their heads huddled close.

Now was the part where Killua was supposed to come back to him, supposed to take up their conversation where they left off.

Instead, Killua had only taken a couple of smug steps backward into the crowd, hands shoved in his pockets, before he crashed into _her_. And at that, the night shifted.

The air was sucked from Gon’s lungs as Killua’s arm outstretched to someone else, pulling her to her fairy feet. She fake-stumbled into his arms. It was forced, Gon could tell. If Killua noticed, he didn’t give it away. He didn’t embarrass her.

The Killua he knew would have embarrassed her. He would have shrugged and said something like “eh, not interested” or “watch it, hag” and run back to him. But this Killua was noticeably different. He was softer around the edges, calmer.

_It’s been seven years. What did you expect?_

This Killua didn’t run back to him, and this girl just kept _talking_. Before long she was guiding him to another bar across the dance floor, too far to read their lips but close enough for Gon to lose his mind. 

He glowered, straining his ears. He suddenly hated the overbearing noisiness of the bar for the sole fact that it kept him from hearing Killua’s words. The clinking of glasses, the DJ whose base shook the room in explosive heartbeats, his friends’ laughter as they reunited after years of separation. He hated it all.

The girl was small and soft-looking, her lips a deep red and curving in response to whatever smart comment Killua made. Killua was always quick with a response—something teasing, intelligent. Gon spent the next half hour watching them shoot casual banter back and forth. His beer glass somehow remained unshattered beneath his vice grip.

“Hey Knuckie, is your friend all right?” the waitress.

The worst thing of all was Killua hadn’t looked back at him once. Not _once_. Not even a flicker of sharp blue, showing even a blip of curiosity for the friend he left behind.

Gon had spent the last seven years seeking out those eyes in every country, every town, every room he stepped into. And now they were so close—but they wouldn’t even spare him a moment.

“Woah, kid, you should really loosen your hand on that glass there.” He vaguely felt Knuckle attempt to tug the glass away by the rim.

They had barely talked today too! Well, technically, they talked all day, but they weaved through meaningless topics, silly jokes. Killua wasn’t _really_ talking to him. It was all surface level. Vague, teasing, guarded. When they got to the bar and were crowded by adoring friends, he dropped his guard a little. He just started to open up. He _just started_ to keep eye contact for more than a couple seconds at a time; they were getting somewhere!

“Gon, you in there? I know it’s loud in here, but I’m _right next_ to you, kid.”

He heard nothing, saw nothing—except Killua scratching the back of his head, blowing unruly waves from his eyes. Red Lips probably thought he was nervous, maybe even excited to talk to her. Maybe he was.

The glass trembled dangerously in his grip.

“I think we need to get Kurapika. He’s the sensible one, yeah? Yo, Kurapika!”

What could they possibly be talking about for this long? Killua was now ordering a drink for her, shooting her a look with teasing eyes.

“What’s going on?” a soft, powerful voice. Kurapika.

Then, alas, Red Lips looked disappointed for a moment. She dropped her gaze to her toes. Killua looked uncomfortable, like he might be looking for an escape route.

Hope swelled in Gon’s chest, his hand and jaw relaxed, the heartbeat fading from his ears—maybe Killua was just being nice after all. Surely he’s more mature now, and wanted to get her a drink as an apology for toppling her over in the middle of the dance floor. That was probably embarrassing for Red Lips, and Killua must have felt bad. He was always a kind, caring person beneath everything else.

Then she grasped his arm and dragged his face to hers.

“HOLY SHIT!” Knuckle boomed, arms flailing out. “Bro!”

His hand felt warm. Wet. There was an annoying prickling across his palm. Annoying enough for him to break his dogged gaze and glance at his hand.

Oh. It broke.

“Leorio, get over here now!” Kurapika called, meanwhile Knuckle was wigging out, waving down his lady love for a first aid kit. When she couldn’t find it, he lunged over the counter to help her search.

“He really fucked up his palm, bro!” spewed a random college kid.

“What?” Palm called out from across the dance floor.

Gon didn’t make any moves to disembody his hand from where it was impaled around the shards. It was as if he had reached equilibrium—the pain in his hand now mirrored the feeling that ripped through his chest. He was weirdly at peace, meanwhile everyone else around him was running and flustered, now trying to buy alcohol to pour on his hand.

Blood pooled across the counter, spreading to the drinks of his neighbors and their neighbors. They screeched and gasped at the dark liquid circling the bottoms of their glasses, jumping back from the bar.

To avoid any more trouble, Gon tugged his hand to his chest. Shards fell to the table, some tumbling to the ground to shatter into more pieces. Oddly symbolic.

He looked up and across the room.

 _Now_ blue eyes flashed towards him, to the commotion their friends were causing, Gon’s hand, the blood. Red Lips looked distressed as he all but shoved her aside to weave through the crowd—worried, flustered, furious.

Gon almost smiled; Red Lips was pouting and Killua was running back to him.

But he knew this wasn’t right. This wasn’t the right way to get Killua’s attention, not the way he _wanted_ to get Killua’s attention. His stomach curled in his chest at the manipulative implications, the selfishness, the things he’d worked so hard to change in himself.

He needed to leave.

Arm pulled tight against his torso, surely bloodying his new green sweater, Gon hauled his body into the dark streets of Yorknew.

Yes, he was drunk. Yes, he was overwhelmed with emotion, and a level of desperation that was peaking as he stumbled over wet brick. No, it wasn’t safe in Yorknew this late at night.

His ears were ringing, hand pulsing. If Killua caught up to him (which he would)—well, actually, Gon had no idea what he’d do. He had no idea who Killua _was_ anymore. He certainly knew all the ways in which he himself had changed. He tirelessly worked on the flaws that tore him and his best friend apart.

Less demanding. More thoughtful. Less self-endangering. More perceptive of those around him. Less expectant that Killua would follow his every whim. More acceptant that he couldn’t change the laws of nature and that the world was not always fair.

But even though he knew in theory the world wasn’t fair, tonight was just too much.

 _Unfair_ didn’t even begin to describe what he’d been feeling when he saw Killua’s lips falling toward that girl.

He passed drunken clusters of friends, solo walkers, whispers drifting from alleys. Planes soared, flickering in the musky night sky. Lights blinked the streets to life in a weary, vibrant bloodline.

He could only assume all the ways in which Killua may have changed. One way he certainly became aware of tonight: Killua was not his. Not anymore. He had clearly given that right away when they’d parted.

He never knew the extent of comfort it brought him for Killua to be his.

Gon’s sneakers scuffed against the crosswalk. He gulped lukewarm air, squinting at the path ahead through his blaring headache. He didn’t care that he left his jacket at the coat check. He didn’t care that warm pools of red were seeping into the crevices of his shoes, dripping from his hand. He didn’t care that his friends were worried.

Maybe he didn’t change as much as he thought he did.

Suddenly he wanted to cry.

“Hey”—a grunt from his left.

Gon idly glanced toward the stranger leaning against the wall, but kept walking.

“ _Hey_ , hold up.” A hand pushed against his shoulder.

Gon swung around with stinging amber eyes. “Look, I really can’t talk right now—”

“I wasn’t looking to talk, kid.”

A fist flew at him, but Gon stumbled backwards in time, trying not to clench his glass-embedded wounds and cause more damage. He caught his footing in a gravelly, degraded sidewalk chunk to regain balance.

The stranger stepped forward, weight heavy in one leg as the other lifted to swing at Gon. It really wasn’t safe in Yorknew this late. He should have known. Gon flinched and braced himself, too disoriented and light-headed to prepare a defense.

Then lightning struck.

Gon felt it immediately—the unmistakable, rippling shockwaves of Killua. They sizzled on the surface of his skin, his senses springing alight. He saw _fury_ in sharp blue eyes, the slam of a limp body into the building beside him.

The stranger almost comically slid down the wall to his butt, hood flopping over his dark hair. But before Gon had a chance to gather his thoughts, Killua was pushing _him_ into the wall.

Killua was now closer than he had been the entire night, flush against him with a pale fist full of his bloody sweater. “What the _hell_ is going on?”

A gasp caught in his throat. Wisps of electricity flickered around Killua, but they were no more powerful than static now. Now _this_ was the Killua he remembered. The Killua who was overflowing with emotion, but only for him. The Killua who cared so much that it seemed to terrify him.

“I-I just . . .”

“You just _what_ , Gon.” His soft white hair was disheveled, sneakers coated in fresh city grime, and he looked like he wanted to scream—in a way that only Gon could recognize. His stance was composed, cold, calculated; with Killua it was all in his eyes.

But for one of the record first times in his life, Gon had no words. For the first time, he didn’t want to be honest. He didn’t want to be straightforward. He was sick of telling everyone in the world exactly what he felt and wanted. Some things, some things were sacred. Some things Killua wouldn’t understand.

He wouldn’t _understand_ that Gon wanted him to himself.

He would run, far. Again. Right after Gon had finally got him back.

“What was it, did they not refill your drink fast enough? Did you get shot down by a girl? What could have possibly made you Nen the shit out of a beer glass and run into a dark abandoned backstreet?” Killua shot, incredulous. The wind whipped at his shirt.

“Uh . . . yeah. Yeah, the girl thing.” The lie was hot on his tongue. It felt wrong.

Killua huffed out a breath, loosening his grip a little. Now he just looked confused. “Wait, but . . . you weren’t even talking to anyone. You were alone the whole time.”

“How would you know?” Gon spat. It wasn’t supposed to come out, especially not like that. _Shit_.

Realization dawned in Killua’s eyes, ignited them. He dropped his grip and stepped back, shaking his head. “That’s what this is about?”

This was not going well. Gon felt his mouth wobble. He’d made him angry, and he had one more excuse to leave him behind again. He was so close, almost had him back, and now everything was—

“God, you are unbelievable. This is because I wasn’t paying enough attention to you?” Killua ran both hands through his hair, elbows high and eyes peering up as if asking the gods to replenish his sanity.

He didn’t know what to say next, but managed to grit out, “It’s okay, Killua. I get it, I know. I don’t own your attention.”

Gon pressed further into the wall, as if hoping to sink and disappear into the graffiti. He felt defeated before the fight could even begin. These years had worn him down more than he realized. He had changed in ways he didn’t like, too. The hopeless kind.

It definitely threw Killua off, who dropped his arms back to his sides. “ _Obviously_ , idiot. Nobody owns my attention but me.” He glanced to the side for a few moments, then stepped forward to poke Gon’s forehead and lift his gaze to his. “It’s rude to not look at someone when they’re talking to you, you know.” It was light, lacking the edge it required.

He sighed when Gon didn’t respond. Auburn eyes somberly stared back at him. “Look, you don’t own shit. But if you want to talk to me . . . _talk to me_. Don’t destroy innocent tableware,” Killua half-smirked. “And I don’t understand why you bothered running, I literally move as fast as lightning. Was it for dramatic effect, _hah_?” He poked Gon’s forehead, more teasingly this time.

Gon huffed a laugh, looking into Killua’s now slightly-sparkling eyes.

“I’m sorry, Killua. I just, I missed you.”

Killua gulped, eyes widening. A pink flush dusted his cheeks as he poked Gon’s head back further, “ _Embarrassing._ ”

His friend’s reactions were comforting, familiar. It made him want to say more. Honest is good, honest works with Killua. _Duh. It’s what always made him believe in you most, you idiot._

“I have a lot I want to say!” he shouted, standing tall now. Killua’s finger dropped from his forehead, taken aback by the shift in energy.

“Hah?! Stop changing your moods! Make up your mind and stick to one!” he squeaked, albeit in a lower octave than seven years ago.

“Killua, I _missed_ you.”

“You already said that!”

“And you left me at the bar with Knuckle and his new girlfriend.”

Killua raised an eyebrow. “You mean, I mowed over some poor girl in my moment of Cupid-like victory.”

“She kissed you.”

“On the _cheek_ , Gon. After I turned her down,” he exasperated. “It was a little much though. She got her stupid lipstick all over me.”

Gon blinked. Relief flooded into his shredded heart, pounding head, _bleeding_ arm. Then, with that relief came blinding realization and blinding pain. He’d been bleeding this whole time. This whole half hour. _There were glass shards sticking out of his palm._

“Fuck, OW!” Gon howled, gripping his arm and jumping from the wall. “My hand!”

“YOU JUST NOW FEEL THAT?”

“I was too upset before! Holy shit, Killua, it hurts so bad!”

“Since when do you curse?!”

“Since I got stabbed in the hand, Killua!”

“Yeah, by _yourself_. You disowned the right to curse!”

Killua all but growled as he looked down at his own bloodied shirt, which had transferred from the wall-shoving incident. Then, after a brief moment of paying his respects to a once stylish piece of clothing, he stretched out his claws and shredded off a piece. He handed it to Gon with a quick “cover it for now”, grabbed his other hand, and dragged him to his car grumbling obscenities the whole way that were vaguely along the lines of “stupid Gon” and “so needy” and “how have you even been surviving without me”.

Gon, despite the roaring pain in his palm, managed a grin. Because for a moment, just a moment before he turned to drag him away, Killua really looked at him. It was the same look he’d treasured when they were kids, the same flash of blue eyes that—though only allowing him an embarrassed glance— _saw him_. The same flitting upward of his lips, the same flushed cheeks, the same fluffy white hair shaking with his head. It was all the same.

But something about the way it made Gon feel was just a little different.

“We’re going to my place, and you’re swallowing all the Advil I own.”

Gon whined, “I’m pretty sure that’s dangerous, Killua.”

“Oh, so now you’re worried about dangerous behavior, _hah_?”

And he laughed, bright and bubbling from his chest. He decided to worry about the strange feelings later. For now, he was just happy to have his fingers clasped around his best friend’s, following the boy who had always followed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! This was a fic I started a while ago and had way too much fun with. Pretty please comment below and lemme know what you think! It's what fuels me to keep on going. <3
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked!!^^


	2. sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Laughing at my suffering?” Gon eyed his friend, jabbing his fork into the middle of a pancake.
> 
> “Always,” Killua responded easily. “For the amount of time you spend suffering, it would be awkward to ignore it.”
> 
> Gon grinned, mouth full of pancake be damned. “It’s a lifestyle.”
> 
> [OR hangovers w/ a sprinkle of tension.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bop: [sun by two door cinema club](https://open.spotify.com/track/5saMo1BtSHW111VrurVHe8?si=Xwgnn_9qRrySKmfSDNLjkQ)

Gon swatted at his face--nose itchy, head throbbing. He squinted a dry eye open to spot the most delicious bottle of water he’d ever seen. It sat on the bedside table, gleaming and glittering beneath waves of sunlight that could only have been the gods (or open window, if reality is your thing).

He lifted an arm, but could barely brush the bottle with his fingertips. And instead of the hungover-fool, nauseous groan he tried for, all that came out was a choked, fluff-filled “pfflflflffp”.

He raised his head and blinked away the bleariness. Two vibrant, slitted eyes blinked back.

He'd slept with his face in a cat butt.

“Why,” Gon moaned at absolutely no one, rubbing vigorously at his face and swinging himself out of bed. He swiped the water from the table, peering back at the cat whose white fluff rose with offense, clearly dissatisfied by the sudden lack of cuddles. 

They had a five-second stare off, but _oh_ , he just couldn’t resist. Gon hopped back to the bed, giving oodles of pets and cooing until the anger floof was satiated.

He ran a hand through his spikes, desperately grasping for memories that would clue him in to where the heck he was, but the hangover acted as a heavy cloud hovering precisely over the bits he needed.

So, context clues it is.

Gon hummed and peeked around the space, bouncing on his toes. It was a decent-sized room, tidy and undecorated. Boxes lined blank walls, some flapped open, some still bound tightly with duct tape. Ruffled from Gon’s presence sat a blue-checkered dude bed, and across the room shelves bursted with comics (clearly a priority in the unpacking endeavor). A basket jutted out from under a tuft of blankets, overflowing with--he crouched, sliding it out--choco-robos. 

Gon laughed brightly, shaking his head, clutching his shirt at his chest. _Killua._ He jumped to his feet. His head protested with sharp pains, but it didn’t matter. He was drenched in a warmth he hadn’t felt in any room in years. Crisp air puffed into the room, but the chill couldn’t penetrate his giddy bubble.

Because this was Killua’s room. The place his friend would return to every day now that he was back in Yorknew. The place where he would . . . well, actually, Gon didn’t know what Killua did with his spare time anymore. Did he still take on hunter missions? Did he still love shooter games better than the racing ones? Did he stay up all night cackling into his comic books? Pour syrup onto his noodles fearlessly?

Gon frowned. He wanted to know these things; he wanted to know all the things. There were _seven years_ of things he was out of the loop for. The thought irked him.

Jingling keys yanked him from his thoughts. Gon blinked at the door, and scenes from the night before clamored to the front of his memory. Last night, Christ, last night. He was a _mess_.

Though he practically grew up with Killua, he was suddenly antsy, eyes flashing around the room for a game plan.

“Gon?” Killua’s voice traveled across the apartment, deep and melodic enough to give Gon a stroke. “You awake yet, maniac?”

Plastic rustled outside, as if plopped onto a table. Light footsteps padded across the hardwood. Gon panicked and, in a moment of astute wisdom and not at all visceral fear, leapt back into bed and burrowed beneath the covers. The cat mewled in objection, but Gon lifted a finger to his mouth to give it a serious, no-shenanigans look.

It huffed and curled up at his feet.

The doorknob turned. Gon clamped his eyes shut and took long, deep, definitely asleep-person breaths.

His ears perked at the audible “pff” and Killua’s every step seemed to tug more and more air from his lungs. It took all his willpower not to spring to life and pounce on his best friend--to ask what he was up to, if he was queasy from last night, if he wanted to hang out today, if he wanted to hang out every day.

You know, baby steps.

So, seeing as he was very clearly asleep and very clearly had a plan, Gon figured Killua would see him and walk out to do his own thing.

But, while listening for Killua’s departing footsteps, Gon felt a soft heat linger above his forehead--a slight, but noticeable shift in the air. And then, Gon had a swift heart attack as smooth fingers slid into his spikes and ruffled his hair. 

“Weirdo,” Killua chuckled quietly. “What were you thinking, huh?”

Gon almost choked onto Killua’s arm. His cheeks glowed, his chest swelled. And then Killua’s hand fell away, leaving him exposed to the brisk air.

He felt a sudden urge to reach out and grab that hand--to pull it to his chest, hold it closely, press his own fingers between the gaps. Killua would kill him. But, if he managed to elude certain death, he would grin up at his best friend and say “good morning.” He would drag him into bed and let the millions of questions that flooded his mind topple from his lips, filling the gap between them that left him feeling indescribably alone.

But he didn’t. Instead, Killua was out the door and Gon was left blinking at the ceiling, wondering what the heck was going on.

When they were younger it was-- _normal_ to grab Killua’s hand. When he wanted to bound off in another direction, when he wanted to snag Killua’s attention, or when he just needed to know he was there beside him, he’d reach out without a thought. Blindly, without a sideways glance, for years, he could reach out and find that hand waiting.

But they were older now and holding someone’s hand meant something entirely different.

It didn’t stop the urge.

Gon chewed at his lower lip and fiddled with his fingers for a few minutes, still burrowed in his comforter cocoon. There was only one move to make, really.

He winced at the door. Then, “Killua?” he scrounged up a yawn and peeled himself from the bed, “are you here?”

Gon yawned his way across the room and through the door (not at all overselling it), but slid to a stop on his heels, nose-to-nose with a startled Killua, an armful of breakfast food tucked between them. He was hugging the feast with one arm, the other still outstretched for the doorknob.

Killua flushed to his ears, the way he did when caught doing something outlandishly thoughtful, and started, “H-hey, I was just, I just got back from the store and--uh, I wasn’t sure if, well you’re definitely hungover since it’s 1 o’clock and you drank all the beer--seriously _all the beer_ \--they had behind the bar; I was just thinking you would want--” he paused and coughed over his shoulder, resetting himself, then shoved the plate into Gon’s gut with both hands--”Food. Eat it. You can come to the kitchen if you’re up to it.”

Gon swallowed a laugh, but couldn’t nix the beaming grin that almost knocked Killua off his toes. 

“Thanks, Killua! You’re seriously the best.” He grasped the plate and started towards the next room. “I woke up feeling like I’d almost starved to death in my sleep. Another minute and I woulda withered.”

Killua snorted and moved toward the kitchen to serve himself. 

Meanwhile, Gon plopped himself at the table, all smiles and hungry eyes. “I’m not kidding, Killua. I’ve got a desert in my mouth—tumbleweeds, camel-foxes, nomad children, the whole shtick—do you have any apple juice?” 

The white-haired man’s cheeks puffed out, cackle barely suppressed, as he tugged a pitcher from the fridge.

“Laughing at my suffering?” Gon eyed his friend, jabbing his fork into the middle of a pancake.

“Always,” Killua responded easily. “For the amount of time you spend suffering, it would be awkward to ignore it.”

Gon grinned, mouth full of pancake be damned. “It’s a lifestyle.”

Killua just snickered, shaking his head.

He could be normal. It wasn’t weird to be normal in a situation like this, right? Gon knew he couldn’t cope with awkward silences and tension—not that it wasn’t there. The tension was very much present, lingering on the surface of his tongue, the tightness in his chest. But he wouldn’t let it overwhelm him.

“Have at it,” Killua dropped onto the bench and pushed the juice toward his whacko friend. “Do you prefer it in juice box form, so I know for next time?” he teased.

Gon gulped and stopped inhaling his plate for a minute. ‘Next time’ seemed to hang in the air, fluttering above the bacon. It was most likely a slip of the tongue, seeing the way Killua was fiddling with his food instead of diving in headfirst.

Killua scratched at the back of his head, sleeve of his baby blue sweater slipping to his elbows. Bangs fell over his eyes, fluttering beneath his eyelashes. Tension, tension, tension. Damn it.

“I do love bendy straws,” Gon blurted. “The neon multicolor packs are wild, Killua. You haven’t lived.”

Blue eyes struck him, and Killua grinned. “Of course you fuckin’ do--” he coughed to the side and then, “I’ll grab some, if I remember.”

Gon’s heart fluttered up his chest and he immediately tried to gulp it back down with some juice. “Cool, cool.”

As a few minutes of quiet eating passed, he realized words should be emerging from his mouth. They usually burst out without precaution--it was his MO. But he had a bad case of Head Empty Heart Full, and it wasn’t budging. 

But then Killua cleared his throat, looking like he might say something vaguely serious. Which filled Gon with a weird brand of panic.

“Your kitchen table is a picnic table!” was what he chose to declare. 

It was an astoundingly stylish, observant move that would sidebar any and all serious conversations.

Killua snorted, but took the bait. “Alluka made it for me—school made her take an elective and the only thing left was woodshop,” he stopped to laugh affectionately. “She was _so_ miffed, but she ended up loving it and decided to furnish my entire apartment.”

“ _What_ , that’s amazing!” Gon exclaimed, zeroing in on the bacon as his next victim. “You’ve gotta show me around.”

Killua shrugged. “The entire apartment is literally one big room, plus the bedroom, but . . . ,” he pointed to the left and grunted “kitchen,” straight ahead at a couch and tv littered with video games “living room,” and a hallway on their right “bedroom and bathroom.” He cracked a little smile and twinkled some unenthused spirit fingers. “Feast your eyes.”

Gon peeked in all four directions eagerly, then vacuumed the bacon into his open mouth. “It looks great in here, Killua, super cozy,” he managed between chews. 

Killua’s eye twitched at the crumbs falling from his friend’s mouth. And the fact that Gon couldn’t wait two seconds, just two seconds, to respond before breathing in an entire plate of bacon.

“But which things did Alluka craft up?” the disaster-eater asked, rubbing at his nose.

And God, there was a whole chunk of bacon just resting there on Gon’s hand. The man didn’t react, didn’t attempt to brush it off, nothing. Fully ensnared in his assault of the food Killua made him, Gon probably didn’t even notice. His chest puffed with a small, fluffy douse of pride, but his twitchy eye was trained on the crumb.

Well, fuck it.

Killua huffed, leaned across the table and put his hand on Gon’s, brushing the crumb off with his thumb.

And Gon _choked_. His face flooded, heart leapt to smash into his ribcage--air itself refused to enter his lungs (though the bacon fiesta in his throat didn’t help).

“Shit, Gon, chew and breathe, _chew and breathe_ ,” Killua sputtered.

“--trying,” Gon coughed out, “get my will,” before downing his entire juice glass. “My Switch games--” a wheeze, and a thumb’s up in Killua’s direction, “all yours.”

“I don’t want your damn games, you maniac. I want you to stop almost dying, whether it’s ants or bacon,” Killua blew his bangs from his eyes, hurriedly pouring the man more juice. “I’m a pretty simple guy.”

Gon wheezed a small laugh. “Are not.”

“Simple enough.” Killua offered a crooked smile, eyes warm. “You’re just thinking too hard.”

“Never thought you’d say that to me, Killua,” Gon rasped, snatching the second juice and chugging it down. His blush began to fade--but only a little bit, as he looked back to his friend who was suddenly much, much closer than before.

Killua was standing beside the table and leaning over Gon, arm stretched for his empty glass again. But all Gon saw were Killua’s hands. One grasping the glass in front of him, the other folding through soft white hair. He could almost still feel it pressed onto his own--light, smooth, lingering.

“You still eat like a kid,” Killua teased, plopping back into his seat across from him. “Emotional and physical growth is rad and all, but when exactly do you plan to learn to chew?”

“I can chew just fine,” Gon grumbled. He was still a bit flustered and not at all prepared for banter.

“Half of your breakfast is on the table,” Killua gestured to the graveyard of bacon bits, “and the rest was on your hand.”

Gon flushed and swiped at his hands self-consciously. “I had no napkin! My hand was functioning as both utensil and napkin.”

“There’s napkins right there, you goof,” Killua gestured at the swirling, jagged metal creation to the side of the table that looked like a tiny torture device or dangerously pointy piece of abstract art--neither of which was a surprise to find on Killua’s kitchen table.

Gon peered at it closer, leaning in. It looked incredibly ominous, but did in fact have napkins in its clutches. He then looked to his only healthy hand, to the metal device, and back to his hand.

“But Killua, I’ll get stabbed again! I’ve only got one hand left.” He waggled his healthy fingers for emphasis.

“And whose fault is that, hah?” Killua jibed, finally able to turn his attention back to his breakfast. “Feel free to be the one to tell Alluka her melding class project is a better weapon than napkin-holder.”

Gon paused for a beat. “But I couldn’t do that, her little face would get so sad. Just--just leave the napkins on the table and tell her I thought it was super cool.”

Killua shook his head. “Nope. She can tell when people are lying to her, ya’know.”

Gon did know. And so he reached out a hesitant, God-fearing hand towards the device, before picking up a chopstick to poke at it until a napkin was outside the sharp clutches enough for him to carefully tug it out.

He swiped the napkin across his hands and looked up to find Killua snickering at him. The man leaned back from the table, all sharp-cut jaw and glimmering canines. 

“You didn’t have to actually use it, I told her it was shit last week.”

This guy. “Killua,” Gon groaned, using his chopstick to push the napkin holder far, far away. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually try to get a napkin out of that thing.”

“But how could you say that to her? She’s so cute.”

“She’s a cute menace, is what she is,” Killua stuck his tongue out. “And we’re honest with each other. I told her I expect a less shit replacement after finals. I have an aesthetic to uphold.”

He was still unsettled and staring at Killua’s hands like they were a threat to his sanity, but Gon couldn’t hold back the smile. “And what aesthetic is that, huh?”

“Adult child with an apartment that won’t murder the guests I don’t have,” Killua answered easily, fork hanging crookedly from his fingers.

“A solid vibe,” Gon smiled wider. “I love not being murdered in your apartment.”

Killua just snorted and kept eating, cheeks tinged pink. “It’s a good time, for sure.”

And this felt like as good a time as any--so Gon dropped his utensils onto his plate and watched Killua carefully. He had accepted his lack of tact long ago, and he was gonna ramble his way in if it killed him.

He just wanted to adventure together again. It couldn’t be that hard to spit out, right?

“Speaking of the guests you don’t have, and the apartment you don’t want to kill them in, and your existence in general,” Gon said, off to a stellar start, “I know Alluka is in Yorknew Academy, which is amazing . . . but what’re up to while she’s in school?”

“Eh,” Killua waved a hand, “nothing really. Just keeping an eye on the hunter boards and keeping the city under control long enough for her to graduate.”

“And then?” Gon pressed.

“Uh,” Killua gulped a little and offered a shrug, “I haven’t quite sorted that out yet. Alluka will probably want to start her own life, she’s already starting to push me out a little, and I’m almost _positive_ I saw her texting a guy the other day . . . who I will murder.” He paused, not really looking at Gon. “But--I’m sure I’ll find something. Just nothing too far away so I can get back if she needs me.”

Before Gon could press further, could maybe, possibly, _suggest_ , just a teeny suggestion that maybe they could do something together--go somewhere together--his phone blinked to life, buzzing insistently against the gray wood.

He gave Killua a small, apologetic smile and flipped his phone open. “Hey Zush, everything okay?”

Killua snorted because he would totally have a flip phone, the dork. But he kept eating, not about to question why Gon would be getting a call from Zushi in the middle of a weekday. Gon was a bubbly, human ray of sunshine, he was bound to have accumulated some friends.

Gon groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh crap I totally forgot to tell you. I, uh, drank a bit too much last night and stayed at a friend’s.”

Killua’s eyebrow arched. He knew Zushi too, so being downgraded from ‘Killua’ to ‘a friend’ felt odd. But whatever.

“Yeah, no--” an awkward laugh, “just beer, not vodka, we both know how I get when I start chugging vodka.”

Killua, who was avidly attempting to look like he wasn’t listening, almost dropped his fork. If last night was _just beer_ , then how many injuries did he sustain and streets did he wander on vodka nights?

“I didn’t impose, don’t worry. Not a girl, not a girl.”

No shit it wasn’t. Killua stabbed at his eggs.

“Fair point,” Gon winced, as if Zushi had laid down a sick burn over the phone. A few seconds later, he laughed and said, “If it was a girl I’m sure you’d be less worried. But seriously, nothing sketchy, I kept my pants on. I think. Well, I slept alone at least, no matter where my pants were.”

Killua’s fork clattered to the plate alongside his jaw, and Gon offered a thumbs up as if to say “you good, bro?”

But he was most certainly _not good, bro_ . Killua offered a blank thumbs up, but held his breath until Gon looked away again. Because what the actual fuck did _that_ mean.

“You’ve gotta stop worrying about me so much, I’m fine, I promise,” Gon laughed affectionately. “I’m not a complete disaster.”

Killua scoffed as if to say _yeah, okay_ and Gon casually flicked Killua’s fork out of his hands, sticking his tongue out as if to reply _I heard that._

“I will, I will. Now’s not a good time though, Zush. I’ll see you at home, okay? Sorry I didn’t reach out.”

When Gon finally flipped the phone shut, Killua was staring right at him. There were approximately five million questions shooting across his headspace, an intricate web of possibilities.

“Zushi, huh?” Killua asked, digging for a little context.

“Yep,” Gon grinned. “We’re pretty close! He was just worried because I didn’t come home last night, or text him or anything. I’m usually super annoying with texts, so I guess the dead silence made him think I was ‘definitely murdered’,” Gon supplied with some air quotes.

Killua nodded, “Checks out.” Though that answered a whopping zero of his questions.

So he pressed a little further. “Home?”

“Yeah, home. We live together,” Gon said casually, “it’s pretty recent so I don’t quite have his schedule down. I thought he was going to be in the studio with Wing this week because he has some new students.”

And though the natural conclusion would have been “Oh? Roommates?” Killua’s mind jumped to something else entirely.

His usually silent, calculating headspace was now a damn domestic romance novel full of Zushi waiting for Gon to come home, Zushi ruffling Gon’s hair while he’s cooking dinner, Gon fixing Zushi’s stupid blackbelt before he heads off to the studio, the two of them chugging vodka and Gon getting _the way he gets_.

But, that would mean that Gon is—

Nope. Nope, nope. Nope it all. Killua lifted a hand to press lightly against his chest, as if willing it to cut the shit. 

So, instead of letting Gon finish off their conversation, and instead of asking the questions he desperately wanted to ask, he blurted--”Hey, so, I’ve got to shower and head out. I’m meeting Alluka for an early dinner. And you probably should head home. Text you later?”

Gon blinked a lot, a little taken aback, before dropping his hands to his lap and saying, “Yeah, yeah, sure. Sounds good, Killua.” 

“Cool, tell Zushi I said hi. Or don’t, it’s whatever,” Killua said brusquely, standing up and all but herding Gon to the door.

Gon looked confused, but made his way into the hallway. “Uh, sure! I’ll tell him. Tell Alluka I say hi, and that her napkin holder didn’t get the best of me,” he laughed lightly. “I put up a good hustle.”

“Your chopsticks took the fall for you,” Killua grunted with a small smile. “But I’ll pass it along.”

Gon looked like he wanted to say more but the door closed right in his face and he was left blinking away the strange feeling that something was very, very off.

And Killua was left standing beside the door, chest burning, wondering what exactly he was supposed to do now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back with more^^
> 
> Things pick up the pace in the next chapter as far as the main plot goes, aand Gon is 120% not dating Zushi (just to avoid any&all confusion). Killua just has a superbly active imagination and our boi Gon can't read a room to save his life lol.
> 
> Thanks for dropping by, let me know what you think! <3


	3. backbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe having just a _little_ more info would put him at ease.
> 
> . . . And okay, Killua had shoved the only person who could give him that info out the door. It wasn’t his smoothest move. But in his defense, there was no amount of time or space that could prepare him for Gon Freecss. What the man did to his routine, his kitchen table, his sanity.
> 
> the bop: [backbeat by dagny](https://open.spotify.com/track/3fsYp2OCMwkANwqHCAWv5H?si=cQkaboIRRwa-iAOYHhL6hA)

Gon was gone and it took all of Killua’s restraint to keep his itchy, curious hands off the doorknob. He ran them through his hair instead, staring out at the very empty room, the pillaged breakfast plates, the bench he hadn’t given Gon the time to push in.

It was suddenly all so unnerving.

It was just Zushi. The chump of a kid who ate their dust in Yorknew, then spent his days cheering them on (prime chump behavior). There was no reason for him to be strung up over the guy living with Gon. 

And there was no way anything even vaguely romantic was going on in that apartment. Gon had the romantic know-how of a block of cheese. 

Ugh. Killua just wanted to peel himself from the front door and drown in a hot shower . . . but instead he was thumping his head against the hardwood and cursing under his breath.

Maybe having just a  _ little  _ more info would put him at ease.

. . . And okay, Killua had shoved the only person who could give him that info out the door. It wasn’t his smoothest move. But in his defense, there was no amount of time or space that could prepare him for Gon Freecss. What the man did to his routine, his kitchen table, his sanity.

He just--he was always doing something subtly or entirely chaotic, and Killua always ended up in its gravitational pull. Wound up in the crossfire, drenched in electricity. 

It was insane. Gon made him insane.

The guy was different now, sure. Killua could see it in the way he chose his words more carefully, the way he waited for Killua to speak first, the way he hadn’t even complained when he asked him to leave. 

In ways, that put Killua at ease. But it also made him worry that whatever Gon was keeping in his head would emerge in other ways (i.e. Last Night).

He sighed. Part of him wanted to call Alluka, but she would just call him “shook” again.

He shuddered and shook his head. Nope. He needed to find his own way back to solid ground. Thus, when Killua received Gon’s first text, he was already tugging his jacket from the hook.

> **It’s GONna be me:** hey killua! thanks again for everything, i know i was a bit of a handful last night
> 
> **It’s GONna be me:** and if you need any help settling in, lemme know! i’m an ikea pro ✌🏻
> 
> **Killuwa:** ...Your screenname makes me want my number back XD. And hell no. I’ll end up driving home with 33 new succulents. 

The jacket was on and Killua was rounding the stairwell. Despite a childhood of assassin training, he still found himself tripping over every other step when Gon was his destination.

> **It’s GONna be me:** LOL i’d take care of them for you i promise!
> 
> **Killuwa:** And give you an excuse to come load up on free meals and attention? Nope. 
> 
> **It’s GONna be me:** i mean, they only need water like, monthly. but other than that, it’s a solid master plan, right😝
> 
> **Killuwa:** Not if I caught on right away. How far’s your ride, dork
> 
> **It’s GONna be me:** GPS says 20ish minutes! i’m ubering so i’ll prob accept one of these 500 candy crush requests from aunt mito and go wild XD.

Killua made it to the front door and finally spotted Gon. The guy stood in the middle of the street, phone clutched in hand as the wind whipped at his sleeves. Killua’s blue sweater was draped around his waist.

Something about it made his stomach flutter.

“Fuck, no,” he ruffled his own hair and slapped at his cheeks.

Killua at least needed a loose, wrangled rendition of a plan, right? His sporty little Honda Civic was parked off to the left, but jogging over would put him 100% in Gon’s view. And even if he maneuvered himself to the car, Gon would definitely recognize the bright blue whip tailing his Uber.

So, no car. 

That left only one option, really.

A run down Chevy rolled up and Gon hopped in, already thanking the driver. Meanwhile, Killua slid out the door and tugged down his baseball cap. A gust of electricity propelled him to the nearest lamp post. 

And at first it felt like a totally badass plan . . . until Killua realized the Uber was bopping along at a pace infinitely slower than his Godspeed, and he would have to make so, so many awkward stops to match it.

> **It’s GONna be me:** your screenname is so cute killua😂
> 
> **Killuwa:** I reiterate: Alluka is a menace.

The children stumbling out of their bus gave Killua curious looks and called out for their parents. They pointed at his hunched and full-squat form next to the parking meter, counting the seconds under his breath.

> **It’s GONna be me:** so are you😋
> 
> **Killuwa:** Damn straight I am. I’ve got that BME on lock.
> 
> **Killuwa:** Big Menace Energy.

The couple at the pizzeria definitely didn’t appreciate Killua plopping down next to them for a full 45 seconds. 

They appreciated it less when he ordered anchovies and chocolate on a personal pizza.

> **It’s GONna be me:** LOL
> 
> **It’s GONna be me:** ...hey, killua?

The old man on the park bench didn’t mind letting Killua borrow and stake out behind his newspaper. He could respect the guy’s vibes too, what with the frayed white hair and corduroy jacket.

Respect his own parents and family? Never. Random old guy wearing the hell out of a pinky ring? Any. Day.

> **Killuwa:** Yeah? What’s with all the dots

Traffic had completely stopped Gon’s Uber at the intersection. So he just sat there, pretending he wasn’t looking at his phone to save face with his bench buddy. 

“Girl trouble?” the grandpa asked. He tossed a piece of bread for the duckrabbits roaming the grass.

“Nah, it’s a dude,” Killua responded without thinking, still in his phone’s orbit.

> **It’s GONna be me:** i was just wondering if everything’s okay?? you were acting a little weird before

The man chuckled. “Oh, well, same hat, different genitals.”

Killua choked on the comic section.

But before he could even think up a retort, the man gently pried his newspaper from Killua’s stiff fingers and pointed at the now-green streetlight--”You’re gonna lose him, kid.”

Killua jumped to his feet. Lightly clearing his throat, he scanned the road for the Uber so he could calculate his route. “Thanks.” 

And like the dramatic little shit he was, he disappeared into wisps of static. 

> **Killuwa:** It’s just been a long-ass two days, don’t worry about it.
> 
> **It’s GONna be me:** okay, if you’re sure, i’ll believe you
> 
> **It’s GONna be me:** *image received*

It was Gon grinning in a selfie with his frazzled-looking Uber driver, captioned “home safe.” The dewey springtime sun glowed from Gon’s cheeks, amber eyes illuminated.

Killua’s mouth dried. Jesus.

He should’ve known better than to text-and-Godspeed, so his lack of self control was to blame when his foot caught in a sidewalk crack, ankle twisting and sparks dissipating. He gripped a damp post, bracing himself.

“Fuck,” he spat. His fingers slipped from the pole and he gracefully landed on his ass.

But he couldn’t be too pissed, because right in front of him was Gon’s apartment building. A semi-new complex at the crossroads of Hipster and Sketchy. He spotted the Uber driver’s still-bewildered face driving out of the parking lot.

He snorted, because god was that a mood: the post-Gon confusion that settles in immediately after interaction with the human sunbeam.

Gon disappeared into the building, and Killua realized he had no actual way of getting in alone (without, you know, vandalism--which he was trying to do less of these days). 

His ankle pulsed angrily, but he still shot to the door, catching the handle after the next person to enter the building--a short, stocky man with weird sideburns and a particularly annoying look about him.

“Thanks,” he grunted, as if the man had held the door open for him. The guy looked surprised for just a second before making a squished-up face and entering his code.

Killua peeked at the apartment listing until he found “Freecss 56”.

And . . . he turned to find the annoying sideburns guy closing the door behind him before Killua could slip in. The guy even turned around and--smirked? Was he  _ smirking  _ at him? Killua’s face flattened, offering the guy a friendly flick of the middle finger before walking out.

So with the whole front-door option eliminated, Killua did something that was a natural next-move.

He scaled the building.

He fully accepted how crazy it was as his fingers gripped wet brick, but he’d already come this far, so what was one scaled building?

He landed on approximately 5 wrong fire escapes before guessing correctly, only slightly winded. His ankle was still fucked though, so he propped himself against the wall. The window beside him was cracked open, flowers peeking out from the sill.

“. . . looking pretty beat up.”

A full-hearted laugh followed.  _ Gon _ . “It’s been a week of a day, Zush.”

“Well welcome back, and good job on surviving. Leftovers in the fridge should soak up whatever gallons of alcohol you still have in your system,” Zushi teased. The kid’s voice was a little deeper, but it seemed puberty didn’t boost him too much.

A sigh and the creak of a stool. “Oh thank God, I may have gone a  _ little bit _ overboard,” Gon admitted.

Understatement.

“Any snacks?” Gon’s hopeful voice piped up. 

Killua’s eyes slitted. He just ate 30% of the food in Killua’s fridge and still wanted more? The black-hole-stomached gremlin.

Zushi audibly winced, “Sorry man, didn’t make it to the store today. I’ll grab some tomorrow though!” 

“All righty then, if you need me I’ll be in my room cuddling this gallon of water.”

A light laugh. “Sure, dude.” The faucet creaked, some dish-colliding noises followed. Rustling, footsteps.

Then--”wait, whose house did you manage to stay at last night?” 

He could hear the tiny screech of Gon’s shoes stopping, uttering all kinds of “uh, well, um”s as if he’d almost got away but not quite. He finally landed on: “Just an old friend.”

It set off all of Killua’s bullshit detectors. He tugged his ankle closer to him and shifted his ear closer to the window.

“You . . . answered that super weirdly.”

Gon sighed and Killua could practically see the awkward smile and arm-stretch thing he did when he was nervous or hiding something.

“It wasn’t a big deal! We played Uno. He used so many Draw 4s, such a cheap winner. Won’t be back there anytime soon," Gon prattled on, much to Killua's lack of amusement (because, despite the fact that it was a lie, it somehow felt very real).

“Uno?” Zushi asked. “You got wasted, went to a random friend’s house and played Uno? . . . No, wait, that actually adds up.”

Killua slapped his face. Two idiots under one roof.

“Sorry for the mini-interrogation,” Zushi conceded. “I . . . guess I was worried about you because you said Killua was supposed to be at the bar last night. I thought maybe it was a hard night for ya.”

“Pffft, nope!” Gon said in his infamous lying octave, but apparently Zushi’s trusting-idiot energy was too strong to pick up on it. “It was a hard night for my hand though.”

“What--dude! What happened to your hand?” Zushi squeaked. Drawer-slamming and generic rustling followed. “Here, rebandage that. Or you’ll be my first one-handed roommate.”

“I really wish you’d stop using the fact that Wing has two hands against me.”

“Just take the Neosporin.” A small pause, in which Gon was probably giving a stubborn look. “Take it, take it, take it, ta--”

“Okay, okay! Taking it, I’ll remain two-handed, I promise,” Gon laughed. “It was just an accident, enhancer mojo plus alcohol equals certain disaster.”

More like Gon plus anything equals certain disaster.

“Jeez, man,” Zushi wheezed, voice closer to the window again. He continued, “but like, you didn’t even talk to him or anything?”

“Who?” Gon asked, innocently, definitely knowing who.

“Killua.”

“Oh, right! Yeah. Sure. Of course I did, and we’re okay. Probably,” he rambled.

Killua’s eyes flattened. But then his pocket buzzed up at him, flushing him with panic. He dove into his pockets to fiddle through his ringer settings before the damn thing got him busted.

He had assassin-level sleuthing skills, but the two nen-fanatics in the next room couldn’t be totally underestimated.

“Hmm, well that’s good! Better than total self destruction, eh?” Zushi laughed, followed by more dish-noises. Meanwhile, Killua peeked down at his phone.

> **It’s GONna be me:** how’s dinner? don’t forget to give alluka a big hug for me!

He felt a tinge of guilt for lying to him, but only a tinge, because Gon was currently lying about last night to his live-in Karate Kid. 

> **Killuwa:** Will do, Freecss.

He also felt a sprinkle of “suck it, Zushi” that Gon was texting him while literally in the middle of their conversation.

But if he was being honest, Zushi seemed like he grew up into a fairly chill dude. A fairly chill dude with trusting-idiot energy, sure, but that was okay. It was kind of fitting that they’d room up together.

Then--”You didn’t sleep with your Draw 4 Jerk Friend, did you?” Zushi added, jokingly.

He takes it back. The guy was a savage. Killua’s cheeks caught fire and he blinked away all the unsolicited images. Not for, well, disgust reasons. It's not that the thought didn't cross his mind, maybe, once, when Gon stumbled into his bed and sat on his cat. Nanika's stroke definitely dampened the mood as he scattered to push Gon's massive, deadweighted frame off of her. But anyway, his point was that this was _not _the time.__

____

____

“Oh my god, Zushi,” Gon cackled, voice fading further away, “I’m going to bed!”

“Hey, I never know with your wild gay energy!”

And at that, Killua (who was already emotionally compromised) almost fell off the fire escape. His elbow slid from the low railing it was propped on, and his torso  _ dropped _ . Hands quickly gripped the railing, barely saving him from a full forward flip.

_ What _ .

He crouched below the window and slapped at his face. “What?” he whispered loudly, laced with a light wheeze. 

Zushi definitely heard that one. Footsteps approached the window and Killua promptly flung himself over the edge, dropping down a few levels to land lightly on his sneakers. From there he rounded the corner, beelining to the front of the building. He wanted to avoid Godspeed. It was starting to drizzle and he wasn’t looking to electrocute any innocent pedestrians today.

“What?” he asked again. His chest was rioting, and he no longer knew what he set out to accomplish, if he’d accomplished anything at all, or how to process this. But he had plans later and not much more time to waste.

He gulped, dodging a lady tugging down laundry from her clothesline.

Right, plans. He had calls to make, intel to compare, files to--eh, no, he hated filing. He was actually just planning on slipping out into the night and winging it solo. But even that required mild preparation.

God, his first hunter mission in years, and his mind was going to be raging with Gon Freecss.

He huffed his way around the last corner to the entrance, sneakers gliding in the mud. But then he spotted a familiar scruffy face and dug his heels into the dirt, full-stop. 

It was the smug asshat from earlier that closed the door in his face. 

Walking up to him was the same man whose face was plastered at the top of all his files, the same man from the blurry stacks of pictures Ikalgo (his least skilled sidekick) delivered weekly.

And as the annoying sideburns guy gave his visitor a grand sweeping entrance, three thoughts crossed Killua’s mind.

  1. Cormac Staro lived in Gon’s apartment building.
  2. A _mob boss_ lived in Gon’s apartment building.
  3. Gon was definitely gay. Which had nothing to do with the first two things, but was equally life-altering.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm half a bag of Tostitos deep and back on my bullshit. This chapter is basically Killua engaging in full-time shenanigans, and just a peek at the beginning of what appears to be a plot.
> 
> The upcoming chapters should be less shenanigan-heavy. But it looks like I'm a softie so who the heck knows. All I know is I've been staring at this chapter for a week and it's time for a nap.
> 
> Thanks for all the encouragement, let me know what you think! Comments fuel my soul. <3
> 
> The Chapter-ly Bop:  
> [Crush by Tessa Violet](https://open.spotify.com/track/47hDuWmh0PU9AARzs5vflv?si=baDgZjpIQYeuwmmdubJLzw)


End file.
